
■:■. 






M 



arrei 



'WWDL 





Class FIT 4 LSI 

Book 



no? 



Copyright N? 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Uo>adij uezatdined (oouztdkip 




LADY GERALDINE. 



Joadij tf&zaLdtfie , 
(oowitdlup 

A ROMANCE OF THE AGE 

By 
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING 



ILLUSTRATIONS BY G. C. WILMSHURST, AND 
DECORATIONS BY FRANKLIN BOOTH 



D. APPLETON fcf COMPANY 

NEW YORK 

1907 



«ft 



•fl 



■\ 



.v N «i A 



; UunARY of CONGRESS 
Two Codes Received 

OCT 4 «90f 

CopyntW Enfjy 

CLASS /I XXc., No, 
COPY B. 



Copyright, 1907, by 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 



Published October, 1907 



\ 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

I.— The Letter 1 

II.— Conclusion 95 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



FACING 
PAGE 



LADY GERALDINE .... Frontispiece 

" There are none of England's daughters who can 

show a prouder presence " .... 6 

" Near the statue's white reposing and both bathed 

in sunny air " 36 

" Oh, to see or hear her singing ! " . . . .46 

" And I spake out wildly, fiercely . . . .74 

" So I fell, struck down before her " ... 90 

" 'Tis a dream— a dream of mercies ! " . . .98 

" Bertram, if I say I love thee, . . . 'tis the vision 

only speaks " 1 06 



SCENE 

A POET WRITES TO HIS FRIEND 

PLACE 

A ROOM IN WYCOMBE HALL 

TIME 
LATE IN THE EVENING 



PART I 
THE LETTER 



J) EAR my friend and fellow- 
student, I would lean my 
spirit o'er you ! 
Down the purple of this 
chamber tears should scarcely run 
at will. 
I am humbled who was humble. Friend, 

I bow my head before you : 
You should lead me to my peasants; 
but their faces are too still. 



II 



(g> HERE'S a lady, an earl's 
daughter, — she is 
proud and she is noble, 
And she treads the crim- 
son carpet, and she breathes the 
perfumed air, 
And a kingly blood sends glances up, 

her princely eye to trouble, 
And the shadow of a monarch's crown 
is softened in her hair. 



Ill 



j§ HE has halls among the 
woodlands, she has cas- 
tles by the breakers, 
She has farms and she has 
manors, she can threaten and com- 
mand, 
And the palpitating engines snort in 

steam across her acres, 
As they mark upon the blasted heaven 
the measure of the land. 



IV 



T& HERE are none of England's 
daughters who can show 
a prouder presence ; 
Upon princely suitors pray- 
ing, she has looked in her dis- 
dain. 
She was sprung of English nobles, I was 

born of English peasants : 
What was / that I should love her, 
save for competence to pain ! 



6 



X WAS only a poor poet, 
made for singing at her 
casement, 
As the finches or the thrush- 
es, while she thought of other 
things. 
Oh, she walked so high above me, she 

appeared to my abasement, 
In her lovely silken murmur, like an 
angel clad in wings ! 



7 



VI 



CD ANY vassals bow before her 

as her carriage sweeps 

their doorways; 

She has blest their little 

children, as a priest or queen were 

she: 

Far too tender, or too cruel far, her 

smile upon the poor was, 
For I thought it was the same smile 
which she used to smile on me. 



VII 

Jo HE has voters in the com- 
mons, she has lovers in 
the palace, 
And of all the fair court- 
ladies, few have jewels half as fine ; 
Oft the prince has named her beauty 
'twixt the red wine and the 
chalice : 
Oh, and what was / to love her? my 
beloved, my Geraldine ! 

9 



VIII 



V ET I could not choose but 

love her : I was born to 

poet-uses, — 

To love all things set 

above me, all of good and all of 

fair. 

Nyrnphs of mountain, not of valley, we 

are wont to call the Muses ; 
And, in nympholeptic climbing, poets 
pass from mount to star. 



IX 



jj ND because I was a poet, 

and because the public 

praised me, 

With a critical deduction for 

the modern writer's fault, 

I could sit at rich men's tables, though 

the courtesies that raised me 
Still suggested clear between us the pale 
spectrum of the salt. 



11 



X 



jH ND they praised me in her 

presence : " Will your 

book appear this sum- 

mer/ 

Then, returning to each other — " Yes, 

our plans are for the moors ;" 
Then, with whisper dropped behind 
me — "There he is! the latest comer. 
Oh, she only likes his verses! what is 
over, she endures. 



12 




There are none of England's daughters who can show a prouder 

presence. 



XI 



Q UITE low-born, self-edu- 
cated ! somewhat gifted, 
though, by nature, 
And we make a point of 
asking him, — of being very kind. 
You may speak, he does not hear 
you; and, besides, he writes no 
satire : 
All these serpents kept by charmers 
leave the natural sting behind." 



13 



XII 



X GREW scornfuller, grew 

colder, as I stood up 

there among them, 

Till, as frost intense will burn 

you, the cold scorning scorched my 

brow; 

When a sudden silver speaking, gravely 

cadenced, over-rung them, 
And a sudden silken stirring touched 
my inner nature through. 



14 




XIII 

LOOKED upward and 

beheld her : with a calm 

and regnant spirit, 

Slowly round she swept her 

eyelids, and said clear before them 

all, 

" Have you such superfluous honor, sir, 

that, able to confer it, 
You will come down, Mister Bertram, 
as my guest to Wycombe Hall ? ' 

15 



XIV 



JE^ ERE she paused: she had 
been paler at the first 
word of her speaking, 
But, because a silence fol- 
lowed it, blushed somewhat, as for 
shame, 
Then, as scorning her own feeling, re- 
sumed calmly, " I am seeking 
More distinction than these gentlemen 
think worthy of my claim. 



16 



XV 



XI E'ERTHELESS, you see, 

I seek it; not because I 

am a woman," 

(Here her smile sprang like 

a fountain, and so, overflowed her 

mouth), 

" But because my woods in Sussex have 

some purple shades at gloaming 
Which are worthy of a king in state, or 
poet in his youth. 



17 



XVI 



X INVITE you, Mister Ber- 
tram, to no scene for 
worldly speeches, — 
Sir, I scarce should dare, — 
but only where God asked the 
thrushes first ; 
And if you will sing beside them, in the 

covert of my beeches, 
I will thank you for the woodlands, for 
the human world at worst." 



XVII 



(5 HEN she smiled around right 

childly, then she gazed 

around right queenly, 

And I bowed — I could 

not answer; alternated light and 

gloom, 

While, as one who quells the lions, 

with a steady eye, serenely, 
She, with level, fronting eyelids, passed 
oat stately from the room. 



19 



XVIII 

O H, the blessed woods of 

Sussex ! I can hear them 

still around me, 

With their leafy tide of 

greenery still rippling up the 

wind. 

Oh, the cursed woods of Sussex ! where 

the hunter's arrow found me 
When a fair face and a tender voice 
had made me mad and blind ! 

20 



XIX 



X N that ancient hall of Wy- 
combe thronged the 
numerous guests invited, 
And the lovely London 
ladies trod the floors with gliding 
feet; 
And their voices, low with fashion, not 

with feeling, softly freighted 
All the air about the windows with 
elastic laughters sweet. 



21 



XX 



JE{ OR at eve the open win- 
dows flung their light 
out on the terrace, 
Which the floating orbs of 
curtains did with gradual shadow 
sweep, 
While the swans upon the river, fed at 

morning by the heiress, 
Trembled downward through their 
snowy wings at music in their sleep. 



22 



XXI 

jH ND there evermore was 

music, both of instrument 

and singing, 

Till the finches of the 

shrubberies grew restless in the 

dark; 

But the cedars stood up motionless, each 

in a moonlight-ringing, 
And the deer, half in the glimmer, 
strewed the hollows of the park. 

23 



XXII 



e J£ ND though sometimes she 

would bind me with her 

silver-corded speeches 

To commix my words and 

laughter with the converse and the 

jest, 

Oft I sat apart, and, gazing on the 

river through the beeches, 
Heard, as pure the swans swam down 
it, her pure voice o'erfloat the rest. 

24 



XXIII 



X N the morning, horn of 

huntsman, hoof of steed, 

and laugh of rider, 

Spread out cheery from the 

courtyard till we lost them in the 

hills ; 

While herself and other ladies, and her 

suitors left beside her, 
Went a-wandering up the gardens, 
through the laurels and abeles. 



25 



XXIV 



<£) HUS, her foot upon the 
new-mown grass, bare- 
headed, with the flowing 
Of the virginal white vest- 
ure gathered closely to her throat, 
And the golden ringlets in her neck just 

quickened by her going, 
And appearing to breathe sun for air, 
and doubting if to float, — 



26 



XXV 



GDC ITH a bunch of dewy maple 

which her right hand 

held above her, 

And which trembled, a 

green shadow, in betwixt her and 

the skies, 

As she turned her face in going, thus, 

she drew me on to love her, 
And to worship the divineness of the 
smile hid in her eyes. 



27 



XXVI 

JF^ OR her eyes alone smile 

constantly ; her lips have 

serious sweetness, 

And her front is calm; 

the dimple rarely ripples on the 

cheek ; 

But her deep blue eyes smile constantly, 

as if they in discreetness 
Kept the secret of a happy dream she 
did not care to speak. 

28 



XXVII 



(5 HUS she drew me, the first 
morning, out across into 
the garden, 
And I walked among her 
noble friends, and could not keep 
behind. 
Spake she unto all and unto me, " Be- 
hold, I am the warden 
Of the song-birds in these lindens, which 
are cages to their mind. 



29 



XXVIII 

J3 UT within this swarded 
circle into which the 
lime-walk brings us, 
Whence the beeches, round- 
ed greenly, stand away in reverent 
fear, 
I will let no music enter, saving what 

the fountain sings us, 
Which the lilies round the basin may 
seem pure enough to hear. 

30 






XXIX 

l5 HE live air that waves the 
lilies waves the slender 
jet of water, 
Like a holy thought sent 
feebly up from soul of fasting 
saint : 
Whereby lies a marble Silence sleeping 
(Lough the sculptor wrought her,) 
So asleep she is forgetting to say ' Hush! ' 
— a fancy quaint. 

31 



0^= 



*u 



xxx 

ARK how heavy white her 
eyelids ! not a dream 
between them lingers ; 
And the left hand's index 
droppeth from the lips upon the 
cheek ; 
While the right hand, with the symbol- 
rose held slack within the fingers, 
Has fallen backward in the basin, — yet 
this Silence will not speak ! 

32 



XXXI 

(£) HAT the essential meaning 
growing may exceed the 
special symbol, 
Is the thought as I con- 
ceive it : it applies more high and 
low. 
Our true noblemen will often through 

right nobleness grow humble, 
And assert an inward honor by denying 
outward show." 

33 



XXXII 



X£ AY, your Silence," said I, 
" truly, holds her sym- 
bol-rose but slackly ; 
Yet she holds it or would 
scarcely be a Silence to our ken : 
And your nobles wear their ermine on 

the outside, or walk blackly 
In the presence of the social law as 
mere ignoble men. 



34 




XXXIII 

Tj ET the poets dream such 
dreaming! madam, in 
these British islands 
"Tis the substance that wanes 
ever, 'tis the symbol that exceeds. 
Soon we shall have nought but symbol ; 

and, for statues like this Silence, 
Shall accept the rose's image — in an- 
other case, the weed's." 



35 



XXXIV 

X£ OT so quickly," she retorted : 

" I confess, where'er you 

go, you 

Find for things, names — 

shows for actions, and pure gold 

for honor clear: 

But, when all is run to symbol in the 

social, I will throw you 
The world's book which now reads dry- 
ly, and sit down with Silence here." 

36 









" Near the statue's white reposing and both bathed in sunny air. 



XXXV 

JE^ ALF in playfulness she spoke, 

I thought, and half in 

indignation : 

Friends who listened, 

laughed her words off, while her 

lovers deemed her fair, — 

A fair woman, flushed with feeling, in 

her noble-lighted station 
Near the statue's white reposing and 
both bathed in sunny air ! 



37 



XXXVI 

(SIX ITH the trees round, not so 

distant but you heard 

their vernal murmur, 

And beheld in light and 

shadow the leaves in and outward 

move, 

And the little fountain leaping toward 

the sun-heart to be warmer, 
Then recoiling in a tremble from the 
too much light above. 

38 



XXXVII 

(S) IS a picture for remembrance. 
And thus, morning after 
morning, 
Did I follow as she drew 
me by the spirit to her feet. 
Why, her greyhound followed also ! dogs 
— we both were dogs for scorn- 
ing— 
To be sent back when she pleased it and 
her path lay through the wheat. 

39 



XXXVIII 

J3, ND thus, morning after morn- 
ing, spite of vows, and 
spite of sorrow, 
Did I follow at her draw- 
ing, while the week-days passed 
along, 
Just to feed the swans this noontide, or 

to see the fawns to-morrow, 
Or to teach the hillside echo some sweet 
Tuscan in a song. 



40 



XXXIX 

J3, Y; for sometimes on the hill- 
side, while we sate down 
in the gowans, 
With the forest green be- 
hind us, and its shadow cast be- 
fore, 
And the river running under, and across 

it, from the rowans, 
A brown partridge whirring near us till 
we felt the air it bore, — 

41 



XL 



(g> HERE, obedient to her pray- 
ing, did I read aloud the 
poems 
Made to Tuscan flutes, or 
instruments more various of our 



own; 



Read the pastoral parts of Spenser, or 

the subtle interflowings 
Found in Petrarch's sonnets — here's the 

book, the leaf is folded down! 



42 



XLI 

O R at times a modern volume, 
Wordsworth's solemn- 
thoughted idyl, 
Howitt's ballad-verse, or 
Tennyson's enchanted revery, 
Or from Browning some " Pomegran- 
ate," which, if cut deep down the 
middle, 
Shows a heart within blood-tinctured, of 
a veined humanity. 

43 



XLII 

O R at times I read there 

hoarsely some new poem 

of my making : 

Poets ever fail in reading 

their own verses to their worth ; 

For the echo in you breaks upon the 

words which you are speaking, 
And the chariot-wheels jar in the gate 
through which you drive them 
forth. 

44 



XLIII 

jF£ FTER, when we were grown 
tired of books, the silence 
round us flinging 
A slow arm of sweet com- 
pression, felt with beatings at the 
breast, 
She would break out on a sudden in a 

gush of woodland singing, 
Like a child's emotion in a god, — a naiad 
tired of rest. 

45 



XLIV 

O H, to see or hear her sing- 
ing! scarce I know which 
is divinest, 
For her looks sing, too — she 
modulates her gestures on the tune, 
And her mouth stirs with the song, like 
song; and, when the notes are 
finest, 
*Tis the eyes that shoot out vocal light, 
and seem to swell them on. 

46 




" Oh, to see or hear her singing ! " 



XLV 

(g> HEN we talked — oh, how 
we talked ! her voice, so 
cadenced in the talking, 
Made another singing — of 
the soul ! a music without bars : 
While the leafy sounds of woodlands, 
humming round where we were 
walking, 
Brought interposition worthy-sweet, as 
skies about the stars. 

47 



XLVI 



j3l ND she spake such good 

thoughts natural, as if 

she always thought 

them; 

She had sympathies so rapid, open, free 

as bird on branch, 
Just as ready to fly east as west, which- 
ever way besought them, 
In the birchen-wood a chirrup, or a 
cock-crow in the grange. 



48 




XLVII 

N her utmost lightness there 
is truth, and often she 
speaks lightly, 
Has a grace in being gay 
which even mournful souls ap- 
prove ; 
For the root of some grave earnest thought 

is understruck so rightly 
As to justify the foliage and the waving 
flowers above. 

49 



XLVIII 

j9C ND she talked on — we talked, 
rather! upon all things, 
— substance, shadow, 
Of the sheep that browsed 
the grasses, of the reapers in the 
corn, 
Of the little children from the schools, 
seen winding through the meadow, 
Of the poor rich world beyond them, 
still kept poorer by its scorn. 



50 



XLIX 



jS O of men, and so of let- 
ters — books are men of 
higher stature, 
And the only men that speak 
aloud for future times to hear; 
So of mankind in the abstract, which 

grows slowly into nature, 
Yet will lift the cry of "progress," as 
it trod from sphere to sphere. 



51 



J5, ND her custom was to praise 

me when I said, "The 

age culls simples, 

With a broad clown's back 

turned broadly to the glory of the 

stars. 

We are gods by our own reckoning, and 

may well shut up the temples, 
And wield on, amid the incense-steam, 
the thunder of our cars. 

52 



LI 



JE( OR we throw out acclama- 
tions of self -thanking, 
self-admiring, 
With, at every mile run 
faster, 'Oh, the wondrous, won- 
drous age ! ' 
Little thinking if we work our souls as 

nobly as our iron, 
Or if angels will commend us at the goal 
of pilgrimage. 



53 



LII 

GDC HY, what is this patient en- 
trance into Nature's deep 
resources 
But the child's most gradual 
learning to walk upright without 
bane? 
When we drive out from the cloud of 

steam majestical white horses, 
Are we greater than the first men who 
led black ones by the mane? 

54 




LIII 

X F we trod the deeps of ocean, 
if we struck the stars in 
rising, 

If we wrapped the globe 
intensely with one hot electric 
breath, 
'Twere but power within our tether, no 

new spirit-power comprising, 
And in life we were not greater men, 
nor bolder men in death." 

55 



LIV 



j§ HE was patient with my 

talking ; and I loved her, 

loved her certes 

As I loved all heavenly 

objects, with uplifted eyes and 

hands ; 

As I loved pure inspirations, loved the 

graces, loved the virtues, 
In a Love content with writing his own 
name on desert sands. 



56 



LV 

O R at least I thought so, pure- 
ly; thought no idiot hope 
was raising 
Any crown to crown Love's 
silence, silent Love that sate alone. 
Out, alas ! the stag is like me, — he that 

tries to go on grazing 
With the great deep gun -wound in 
his neck, then reels with sudden 
moan. 

57 



LVI 



j£ T was thus I reeled. I told 

you that her hand had 

many suitors ; 

But she smiles them down 

imperially, as Venus did the 

waves, 

And with such a gracious coldness, that 

they cannot press their futures 
On the present of her courtesy, which 
yieldingly enslaves. 



58 



LVII 



J0C ND this morning, as I sat 
alone within the inner 
chamber 
With the great saloon be- 
yond it, lost in pleasant thought 
serene, 
For I had been reading Camoens, that 

poem, you remember, 
Which his lady's eyes are praised in as 
the sweetest ever seen. 



59 



LVIII 



< jU ND the book lay open; and 

my thought flew from it, 

taking from it 

A vibration and impulsion 

to an end beyond its own, 

As the branch of a green osier, when a 

child would overcome it, 
Springs up freely from his claspings, and 
goes swinging in the sun. 



60 



LIX 



j£ S I mused I heard a murmur : 
it grew deep as it grew 
longer, 
Speakers, using earnest lan- 
guage — " Lady Geraldine, you 
would! 
And I heard a voice that pleaded ever 

on in accents stronger, 
As a sense of reason gave it power to 
make its rhetoric good. 



61 



LX 

(SIX ELL I knew that voice: it 
was an earl's, of soul 
that matched his sta- 
tion, — 
Soul completed into lordship, might and 

right read on his brow ; 
Very finely courteous : far too proud to 

doubt his domination 
Of the common people, he atones for 
grandeur by a bow, 

62 



LXI 



jEfc IGH straight forehead, nose 
of eagle, cold blue eyes 
of less expression 
Than resistance, coldly cast- 
ing off the looks of other men, 
As steel, arrows; unelastic lips, which 

seem to taste possession, 
And be cautious lest the common air 
should injure or distrain. 



63 



LXII 




jEf OR the rest, accomplished, 
upright, ay, and stand- 
ing by his order * 
With a bearing not un- 
graceful; fond of art and letters, 
too; 
Just a good man made a proud man, — 

as the sandy rocks that border 
A wild coast, by circumstances, in a 
regnant ebb and flow. 



64 



LXIII 

(& HUS, I knew that voice, I 

heard it, and I could not 

help the hearkening: 

In the room I stood up 

blindly, and my burning heart 

within 

Seemed to seethe and fuse my senses till 

they ran on all sides darkening, 
And scorched, weighed like melted metal 
round my feet that stood therein. 

65 



LXIV 



jF£ ND that voice, I heard it 

pleading, for love's sake, 

for wealth, position, 

For the sake of liberal uses, 

and great actions to be done — 

And she interrupted gently, " Nay, my 

lord, the old tradition 
Of your Normans, by some worthier 
hand than mine is, should be won." 



66 



LXV 



Jfj H, that white hand!' he 
said quickly ; and in his 
he either drew it 
Or attempted, for with grav- 
ity and instance she replied, 
" Nay, indeed, my lord, this talk is vain, 

and we had best eschew it, 
And pass on, like friends, to other points 
less easy to decide.' 



67 



LXVI 



(SIX HAT he said again, I know 

not : it is likely that his 

trouble 

Worked his pride up to the 

surface, for she answered in slow 

scorn, 

"And your lordship judges rightly. 

Whom I marry, shall be noble, 
Ay, and wealthy. I shall never blush 
to think how he was born." 



68 



LXVII 



(g> HERE I maddened. Her 

words stung me. Life 

swept through me into 

fever, 

And my soul sprang up astonished, — 

sprang full-statured in an hour. 
Know you what it is when anguish with 

apocalyptic never 
To a Pythian height dilates you, and 
despair sublimes to power? 



69 



LXVIII 



Jr{ ROM my brain the soul- 
wings budded, waved a 
flame about my body, 
Whence conventions coiled 
to ashes. I felt self-drawn out, as 
man, 
From amalgamate false natures, and I 

saw the skies grow ruddy 
With the deepening feet of angels, and 
I knew what spirits can. 



70 



LXIX 

X WAS mad, inspired, say 
either! (anguish worketh 
inspiration) 
Was a man or beast — per- 
haps so, for the tiger roars when 
speared ; 
And I walked on step by step along the 

level of my passion — 
Oh, my soul! and passed the doorway 
to her face, and never feared. 

71 



LXX 



J^ E had left her, peradventure, 

when my footstep proved 

my coming ; 

But for her — she half arose, 

then sate, grew scarlet, and grew 

pale. 

Oh, she trembled ! 'tis so always with a 

worldly man or woman 
In the presence of true spirits : what else 
can they do but quail? 



72 



LXXI 



O H ! she fluttered like a tame 

bird in among its forest 

brothers 

Far too strong for it; then 

drooping, bowed her face upon her 

hands ; 

And I spake out wildly, fiercely, brutal 

truths of her and others : 
/, she planted in the desert, swathed her, 
windlike, with my sands. 



73 



LXXII 



X PLUCKED up her social 

fictions, bloody-rooted, 

though leaf-verdant, 

Trod them down with words 

of shaming, — all the purple and the 

gold, 

All the "landed stakes" and lordships, 

— all that spirits pure and ardent 
Are cast out of love and honor because 
chancing not to hold. 



74 




And I spake out wildly, fiercely." 



LXXIII 

JE[ OR myself I do not argue," 

said I, "though I love 

you, madam, 

But for better souls that 

nearer to the height of yours have 

trod: 

And this age shows, to my thinking, still 

more infidels to Adam, 
Than, directly by profession, simple in- 
fidels to God. 

75 



LXXIV 






Y EX O God!" I said, "O 
grave! " I said," O moth- 
er's heart and bosom ! 
With whom first and last 
are equal, saint and corpse and lit- 
tle child, 
We are fools to your deductions in these 

figments of heart closing; 
We are traitors to your causes in these 
sympathies defiled. 



76 



LXXV 



JQ EARN more reverence, 

madam, not for rank or 

wealth, that needs no 

learning, — 

That comes quickly, quick as sin does, 

ay, and culminates to sin, — 
But for Adam's seed, man ! Trust me, 

'tis a clay above your scorning, 
With God's image stamped upon it, and 
God's kindling breath within. 



77 



LXXVI 



(JUi HAT right have you, madam, 

gazing in your palace 

mirror daily, 

Getting so by heart your 

beauty which all others must 

adore, 

While you draw the golden ringlets 

down your fingers, to vow gayly 
You will wed no man that's only good 
to God, and nothing more ? 



78 



LXXVII 



(JUL HY, what right have you, 

made fair by that same 

God, the sweetest 

woman 

Of all women he has fashioned, with 

your lovely spirit-face, 
Which would seem too near to vanish, 

if its smile were not so human, 
And your voice of holy sweetness, turn- 
ing common words to grace, 

79 



LXXVIII 



XSx HAT right can you have, 

Gods other works to 

scorn, despise, revile 

them, 

In the gross, as mere men, broadly, not 

as noble men, forsooth ; 
As mere pariahs of the outer world, for- 
bidden to assoil them 
In the hope of living, dying, near that 
sweetness of your mouth ? 



80 



LXXIX 



JE^ AVE you any answer, mad- 
am? If my spirit were 
less earthly, 
If its instrument were gifted 
with a better silver string, 
I would kneel down where I stand, and 

say, ' Behold me ! I am worthy 
Of thy loving, for I love thee. I am 
worthy as a king.' 



81 



LXXX 



c j3^ S it is, your ermined pride 

I swear, shall feel this 

stain upon her, 

That /, poor, weak, tost 

with passion, scorned by me and 

you again, 

Love you, madam, dare to love you, to 

my grief and your dishonor, 
To my endless desolation, and your im- 
potent disdain." 



82 



LXXXI 



CD ORE mad words like these, 

— mere madness! friend, 

I need not write them 

fuller, 

For I hear my hot soul dropping on the 

lines in showers of tears. 
Oh, a woman ! friend, a woman ! why, 

a beast had scarce been duller 
Than roar bestial loud complaints against 
the shining of the spheres. 



83 



LXXXII 



JB UT at last there came a 
pause. I stood all vi- 
brating with thunder 
Which my soul had used. 
The silence drew her face up like 
a call. 
Could you guess what word she uttered ? 

She looked up, as if in wonder, 
With tears beaded on her lashes, and 
said, "Bertram!" it was all. 



84 



LXXXIII 



X F she had cursed me, — and 
she might have, — or if 
even, with queenly bear- 
ing 
Which at need is used by women, she 

had risen up and said, 
44 Sir, you are my guest, and therefore I 

have given you a full hearing : 
Now, beseech you, choose a name ex- 
acting somewhat less, instead," 



85 



LXXXIV 

X HAD borne it: but that 

" Bertram" — why, it lies 

there on the paper, 

A mere word, without her 

accent, and you cannot judge the 

weight 

Of the calm which crushed my passion. 

I seemed drowning in a vapor, 
And her gentleness destroyed me, whom 
her scorn made desolate. 

86 



LXXXV 



JS O, struck backward and ex- 
hausted by that inward 
flow of passion, 
Which had rushed on, spar- 
ing nothing, into forms of abstract 
truth, 
By a logic agonizing through unseemly 

demonstration, 
And by youth's own anguish turning 
grimly gray the hairs of youth, 



87 



LXXXVI 



J> Y the sense accursed and 

instant, that, if even I 

spake wisely, 

I spake basely — using truth, 

if what I spake indeed was true, 

To avenge wrong on a woman — her, who 

sate there weighing nicely 
A poor manhood's worth, found guilty 
of such deeds as I could do ! — 



88 



LXXXVII 



]IB Y such wrong and woe ex- 
hausted — what I suffered 
and occasioned, 
As a wild horse through 
a city runs with lightning in his 
eyes, 
And then dashing at a church's cold and 

passive wall, impassioned, 
Strikes the death into his burning brain, 
and blindly drops and dies — 



89 



LXXXVIII 

jS O I fell, struck down before 
her — do you blame me, 
friend, for weakness? 
'Twas my strength of pas- 
sion slew me — fell before her like 
a stone ; 
Fast the dreadful world rolled from me 
on its roaring wheels of blackness : 
When the light came, I was lying in this 
chamber, and alone. 



90 




"So I fell, struck down before her." 



LXXXIX 

O H, of course she charged her 

lackeys to bear out the 

sickly burden, 

And to cast it from her 

scornful sight, but not beyond the 

gate; 

She is too kind to be cruel, and too 

haughty not to pardon 
Such a man as I : 'twere something to be 
level to her hate. 

91 



xc 

JB UT for me — you now are 

conscious why, my 

friend, I write this letter, 

How my life is read all 

backward, and the charm of life 

undone. 

I shall leave her house at dawn, — I would 

to-night, if I were better, — 
And I charge my soul to hold my body 
strengthened for the sun. 






92 



XCI 



(3DC HEN the sun has dyed the 

oriel, I depart, with no 

last gazes, 

No weak moanings (one 

word only, left in writing for her 

hands), 

Out of reach of all derision, and some 

unavailing praises, 
To make front against this anguish in 
the far and foreign lands. 



93 



XCII 



JB LAME me not. I would 

not squander life in grief 

— I am abstemious. 

I but nurse my spirit's falcon 

that its wing may soar again. 

There's no room for tears of weakness 

in the blind eyes of a Phemius : 
Into work the poet kneads them, and he 
does not die till then. 



94 



PART II 
CONCLUSION 



95 



JB ERTRAM finished the last 

pages, while along the 

silence ever, 

Still in hot and heavy splashes, 

fell the tears on every leaf. 

Having ended, he leans backward in his 

chair, with lips that quiver 
From the deep unspoken, ay, and deep 
unwritten, thoughts of grief. 



97 



II 

jg OH! How still the lady 
standeth ! 'Tis a dream, 
— a dream of mercies ! 
'Twixt the purple lattice- 
curtains how she standeth still and 
pale! 
'Tis a vision, sure, of mercies sent to 

soften his self curses, 
Sent to sweep a patient quiet o'er the 
tossing of his wail. 

98 




"'Tis a dream -a dream of mercies! 



Ill 



€( YES," he said, " now throb- 
bing through me, are 
ye eyes that did undo 
me? — 
Shining eyes, like antique jewels set in 

Parian statue-stone! 
Underneath that calm white forehead 

are ye ever burning torrid 
O'er the desolate sand-desert of my 
heart and life undone?" 



99 



LGFC. 



IV 

(SIX ITH a murmurous stir un- 
certain, in the air the 
purple curtain 
Swelleth in and swelleth 
out around her motionless pale 
brows, 
While the gliding of the river sends a 

rippling noise forever 
Through the open casement whitened by 
the moonlight's slant repose. 

100 



V 



JS AID he, "Vision of a lady, 

stand there silent, stand 

there steady! 

Now I see it plainly, plainly, 

now I cannot hope or doubt — 

There, the brows of mild repression; 

there, the lips of silent passion, 
Curved like an archer's bow to send the 
bitter arrows out." 



101 



VI 

€[ VER, evermore the while, 
in a slow silence she 
kept smiling, 
And approached him slow- 
ly, slowly, in a gliding, measured 
pace, 
With her two white hands extended, as 

if praying one offended, 
And a look of supplication gazing earn- 
est in his face. 

102 



VII 



jg AID he, "Wake me by no 

gesture, sound of breath, 

or stir of vesture ! 

Let the blessed apparition 

melt not yet to its divine ! 

No approaching — hush, no breathing, or 

my heart must swoon to death in 
The too utter life thou bringest, O thou 
dream of Geraldine ! ' 



103 



VIII 

€( VER, evermore the while, 

in a slow silence she 

kept smiling; 

But the tears ran over lightly 

from her eyes, and tenderly : — 

"Dost thou, Bertram, truly love me? 

Is no woman far above me 
Found more worthy of thy poet-heart 
than such a one as /?' 



104 



IX 



jS AID he, "I would dream so 

ever, like the flowing of 

that river, 

Flowing ever in a shadow 

greenly onward to the sea ! 

So, thou vision of all sweetness, princely 

to a full completeness, 
Would my heart and life flow onward, 
deathward, through this dream of 

THEE ! 



105 



X 

G( VER, evermore the while, 

in a slow silence she 

kept smiling, 

While the silver tears ran 

faster down the blushing of her 

cheeks ; 

Then, with both her hands infolding both 

of his, she softly told him, 
* 'Bertram, if I say I love thee, . . . 'tis 
the vision only speaks." 

106 




"'Bertram, if I say I love thee, . . . 'tis the vision only speaks/ 



XI 



JS OFTENED, quickened to 

adore her, on his knee 

he fell before her; 

And she whispered low in 

triumph, "It shall be as I have 

sworn. 

Very rich he is in virtues, very noble, — 

noble certes; 
And I shall not blush in knowing that 
men call him lowly born." 



107 




(1) 



OCT 4 t* 07 



